Life Without Parole: A Kate Conway Mystery (22 page)

I wasn’t
sure if he was dumping me for the waitress, had a genuine desire to exchange recipes with the restaurant’s chef, or was just avoiding my questions. Any way you looked at it, though, my first date with a new man in twenty-one years was a washout. It was a good thing I hadn’t bothered to shave my legs.

I
resisted the temptation to call Vera and enlighten her on the results of matchmaking, because I knew in her own way she was just trying to help. Just as when I’d lied to Makina I’d been trying to help her. Both of us had screwed up, giving me two more examples of why it’s best just to stay out of other people’s affairs.

Not that I imagined for a second I had any choice anymore. I’d been home only twenty minutes when the disposable phone rang, giving me another chance to help someone. And get it wrong.

“Will you accept a collect call from Dugan Correctional Center?” It was a recording. “Tim Campbell would like to speak with you.”

“Yes,” I said into the phone.

It was too much to hope that he’d already figured out who had the motive for murder.

“Kate,” Tim said in an exaggerated version of his usual “good ole boy” drawl. “Drive home go okay?”

“Yes, it went fine, Tim. I’ll be back at Dugan on Monday if you want to talk then about what we discussed this morning.”

“Actually it’s related but I think it’s okay to talk now. That lady, the friend, she’s a wealthy woman. I read something about her in the
Sun-Times
today after you left.”

“Her family has money.”

“Well, that’s the thing that’s always been missing for me, you see. I couldn’t mount the right defense because that takes experts, and DNA tests and big-time lawyers. That takes money.”

“What are you saying?” I asked, even though I was pretty sure I already knew where this conversation was headed.

“Maybe you could talk to her about helping me, since I’m helping her.”

“You haven’t actually helped her yet.”

“But I will, Kate. I have some information I got from somewhere about one of her friends at that restaurant.”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“
I can get more specific when I see you. I have a few people I can talk to, but it’s not an easy conversation to have. It looks like your friend jumped into the deep end of the pool on this, and if she wants rescuing…”

“It’s going to cost money,” I finished for him.

“No, Kate. I’ll help her because she’s your friend and you’re a nice lady. But I’m just saying that if she thinks she can help me, I sure could use the help.”

I took a deep breath. “I’ll talk to her, Tim. And we’ll talk on Monday.” I hung up.

I climbed into bed and sat with my arms wrapped around my knees. For someone who had been accused of spending too much time alone, I was sure making a lot of new friends. And all of them were the wrong friends. They had problems, complications. They wanted things from me, and I wasn’t in a giving mood. Maybe Tim was innocent of murdering his wife. Maybe Doug was a decent guy lying dead in a ditch somewhere. And maybe Walt had wanted nothing more from me than a nice conversation and a good-night kiss. Maybe.

I opened the drawer to my nightstand and pulled out the one picture of Frank and me that wasn’t in a box in the garage. For some reason, when I’d put away his photos after he left me, I’d held on to this one. It wasn’t from any special event—not our wedding or Christmas or even a favorite vacation. It had been taken at a barbecue at my brother-in-law’s house about three years before we split up. Frank was sitting on a plastic lawn chair, beer in one hand, hot dog in the other. He looked relaxed. He was smiling, almost laughing. Frank had a nice smile, wide and unassuming. He didn’t pretend to be happy when he wasn’t, and didn’t hold back his happiness when he felt it. It was a trait I’d always envied. I’d built my career on being able to express emotions I didn’t really feel—sympathy, warmth, affection. Sometimes I wasn’t sure what I actually felt. Especially these days.

In the photo, I was leaning into Frank, my shoulder against his, my head touching his head. I was smiling too. Maybe not as widely, but I
looked happy. I told myself I’d kept this picture in my nightstand because it was a good picture of the both of us, particularly me. My waist looked really thin in it, and for once my dark red hair didn’t overwhelm my face. But I realized looking at it now that it wasn’t my waistline, or Frank’s smile. It was the ordinariness of the moment it captured, one of a thousand barbecues we’d attended as a couple. That’s why I kept it. My life with Frank had had a rhythm to it, a routine. Sometimes I’d hated that routine while I was living it, but I craved it now.

Being a freelance television producer means never knowing what I’m going to be working on, or where, or with whom. It means never knowing how much money I’ll make in a month, or when I’ll get paid for the work I do. When I was married, there were certainties—family barbecues, a date for New Year’s Eve, arguments over where to spend Thanksgiving, a warm body next to me at night.

Now I had no routine, no certainty. I’d just drifted the past seven months, expecting things to fall into place. But they hadn’t. I missed Frank’s sense of humor, his talent, and the love we’d shared for at least some of our marriage, but mostly I missed knowing he was there at the end of the day. If Frank were alive I wouldn’t be caught up in all this mess. I’d never had the energy for other people’s craziness. I’d had too much of my own. I’d had an unhappy marriage to obsess about, in-laws to dislike, and family parties I’d been forced to attend. But that was gone now. And staring at this photo of us, I saw that I hadn’t created a life without Frank; I’d avoided one.

I stretched out in the bed and covered myself with the comforter. I could hear the wind outside, and a tree branch scratching against the window, but I didn’t care. I was warm and safe and in my own bed.

I tried to think of Frank, and of some of the happy nights we’d been together in this bed, but the present kept getting in the way. If Tim hadn’t killed his wife, then he’d spent twenty years away from these small comforts for a crime he hadn’t committed. It wasn’t something I would wish on anyone, including Vera.

T
here was a loud banging on my door. I could see daylight through my window, and when I looked at my alarm clock it was after noon. I hadn’t slept well, so noon or not, I wasn’t about to get up. Instead I waited, staying in bed under the warm covers, hoping it was just some overenthusiastic Jehovah’s Witness or a Girl Scout with a strong belief in sales quotas. But the banging wouldn’t stop.

I put my feet on the cold floor, cursing whomever was at my door. I looked around until I found a pair of discarded socks under a chair and put them on, then grabbed a chunky cable-knit cardigan with a coffee stain on the front, threw it over my sweats and T-shirt, and headed for the front door.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” I announced as I opened the door.

It was Ellen. “Good Lord, Kate, is that how you dress to answer the door?” She walked into the living room. “What happened in here?”

“Nothing.” The living room looked fine to me. Messy, but fine.

“I had no idea it was this bad.”

“What’s this bad? I’ve been working a lot,” I said. “I haven’t had time to clean. I bet if I showed up uninvited to your house, I’d find a reason to nitpick.”

Ellen picked a pizza box up off the couch and set it on the coffee table next to the empty beer bottle. “How long have these been here?”

It had been two days. Or three. I couldn’t remember. “Last night,” I said. “I had some friends over and we hung out and watched television.” I silently prayed she wouldn’t ask me which friends or what television show. It was one thing to lie to a cop. I had a chance of getting away with that. But I knew my sister wouldn’t be as gullible.

Ellen grabbed my arm and led me to the couch. “I know you’ve been depressed—”

“I’m not depressed. I’m tired,” I tried to explain. “I’ve been working
on two shows at the same time and on one of them there was a homicide, so it’s been a bit crazy. We’ve been trying to arrange additional interviews, which as you can imagine takes a lot of time. Plus I’ve been driving back and forth to Dugan Correctional, so I’ve been getting home late a lot.”

I was rambling, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t listening.

“We’re going to sit here and talk,” Ellen said, “and then we’re going to come up with a plan that will help you. Tony is taking the kids to his mother’s, so I don’t have a thing to do but be with you all day.”

“Wow,” was all I could think of. “The thing is, Ellen, I do have things to do today. All day. I can’t just sit around and talk, much as I’d like to. I don’t know why you came over but—”

“You missed your hair appointment yesterday,” she said. “And today you were supposed to meet me at Mom’s.”

“Dividing up her knickknacks.” I remembered. Damn, I was never going to hear the end of this. I took a deep breath and looked Ellen square in the eye, doing my best to sound tough. “As important as it is to decide right now which one of us gets Mom and Dad’s souvenir plate from their honeymoon at Niagara Falls, I really do have stuff to do.”

I got up from the couch, hoping to signal to her that it was time to go, but I couldn’t even take a step. Ellen had a death grip on my hand.

“Like what?”

“Like…stuff,” I said. “What difference does it make? I don’t have time to go through Mom’s house picking out valuables in some macabre version of
Antiques Roadshow
. Why don’t you and Mom pick out the things you think I’ll like and don’t tell me what you’ve chosen? That way when she dies, I’ll be surprised. It’ll be like Christmas morning, only with caskets and burial plots.”

“You know Mom and I planned this to cheer you up.” Concern had become pouting, Ellen’s favorite tactic for getting her way.

“How is talking about Mom’s death supposed to cheer me up?” I snapped. It was a tactical error. The angrier I got, the more evidence Ellen had that I was in crisis. I tried to sound calm. “Ellen, I was up late. I’m crabby and I have a lot to do. I appreciate your being concerned, but I just don’t have the time for it right now.”

“
At least make the time for a shower.” She sniffed, and finally let go of my hand. She got up from the couch and walked toward the door, tsking and shaking her head the entire way. “I know you don’t think I understand your situation because my marriage is happy and I have children, but I’ve been lonely, Kate. And I don’t want that for you.” It was a petty dig and genuine concern in one sentence. I stood back in awe at her skill.

“I know you do, Ellen. But I’m fine. Really I am.”

She nodded, but there was skepticism in her eyes. “By the way, your neighbor is a creep. I’d watch out for him.”

“My neighbor is a seventy-nine-year-old woman,” I said.

Ellen rolled her eyes. “Your neighbor on the other side.”

“That house is empty. It’s been on the market for months but it hasn’t sold.”

“No. The guy who lives right there.” Ellen pointed to the empty house, refusing as always to admit she was wrong. “When I was walking to your door, he was standing on the lawn of that house looking at your house. I went right up to him, told him I was your sister, and asked him who he was. He told me he lives there.”

“No one lives in that house, Ellen.” I looked out the window, but whoever had been there was gone. “What did he look like?”

“Big guy. Bald. Maybe in his late fifties. He tried to pretend he was going to clear the path, but he didn’t have a shovel and he was standing in the snow in really expensive shoes. I’d have to be a moron to buy that story. Is he peeping in your windows?”

“Oh, that’s the guy who used to live there,” I lied, hoping if I didn’t make eye contact I’d get away with it. “He’s probably got an open house or something.”

“Well, you’re lucky he’s moving away. If you ask me, there’s something kind of angry about him.”

Ellen imagined she had a near-perfect ability to find the psychopath in a roomful of normal people. She said it came from years of teaching seventh graders. But in this case she was probably right. Roman Papadakis had found out where I lived and, for some reason, had come to see me.